Leicontis's Laboratory
by Leicontis
Summary: An "ideas file" for fics in the Harry Potter universe. Anything and everything is up for adoption!
1. Someone to Stop You

**Disclaimer: I own nothing of the rights to Harry Potter or Doctor Who.  
**

 **A/N: Here is the first entry in Leicontis's Laboratory, a dumping ground for random prompts, challenges, ideas, and story bits that pop out to me. I had been intending to wait until I had more material collected, but my main story (Umino Iruka and the Will of Fire) just hit 100 followers and I had to celebrate.**

 **As with my other ideas fic The Kunai Pouch, anything I post in this fic is up for adoption or use, in whole or in part, so long as credit is given and you let me know so I can get to see my idea developed. There are some guidelines I'd prefer to see followed if you do build a fic on my ideas, but I'll put them down in the end A/N.**

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 _-Christmas 2006-_

The Second British Blood War went badly... very badly. The Dark forces had too much popular support and not enough popular opposition. They had too much financial and political power. They used tactics no person with a functioning conscience would ever touch. They were winning, crushing all opposition, and victimizing countless others. Then they made a mistake.

They killed the woman Harry Potter loved.

Soon, to their detriment, they found that Harry Potter truly was the Dark Lord's equal, as prophesied. He was equal in power, equal in talent... equal in hatred, equal in cruelty, equal in ruthlessness. Potter abandoned the gentle, capture-focused tactics of the Light, passed over the harsh pragmatism of the Gray, and began destroying his enemies with the vicious cruelty of the Dark. He copied his enemies' tactics, striking at vulnerable targets, wiping out families while their patriarchs were away serving Voldemort, visiting the same horrors on the Death Eaters and their supporters that he and his had suffered for so long. In his grief, he was determined that all those he held responsible would share in his pain.

Now, over fifteen years since his reintroduction to the wizarding world, he sat alone in a cheap room, drinking to numb the pain as he remembered happier times, paying only minimal attention to the program on the telly - something with a flying phone booth and spider aliens. He watched with approval as the hero destroyed the invaders, protected the Earth, until one snippet of conversation consumed his entire focus.

"I don't need anybody."  
"Yes you do. Because I think sometimes you need somebody to stop you."

The woman's statement crashed through the drunken haze, through the pain, through the years of blood and terror and hate, and straight to the most wonderful and painful memory of all - his love. A handful of words in a television Christmas special changed everything.

How would she react to what he had become? Harry's mind easily conjured images that cut deeper than any wound he'd received in years: Her shock, horror, disappointment, disgust - he deserved all of them. He had become the very thing he hated most, and even worse, he didn't think he could reverse the change. It wasn't as if he hadn't tried already, tried again and again to take the high road, to be better than his enemies, but eventually he'd slip again, and with nobody to pull him back he'd become a monster once more. His "upbringing" by the Dursleys hadn't taught him anything about compassion, or kindness, or restraint, or mercy - only cruelty - and with the loss of his love he lost the ability to even see the line before he was far past it. Finally, he understood why he'd failed to be better: He needed help, and not from just anybody. Only one person could pull him away from the darkness. His heart could only be returned by the woman he'd given it to, but she'd taken it with her to the grave.

He needed her, and only now did he truly grasp how desperate that need was. There was no way to bring her back; he'd learned enough Necromancy in the past few years to understand that the gates of death only swung in one direction, no matter what anyone had ever tried. Joining her was out, too. Giving up just wasn't in his nature, and even if it was, he doubted that his "next great adventure" would be anything like hers after all he'd done. What did that leave? His alcohol-fogged mind cast about randomly, conceiving and discarding ever more absurd ideas, until it latched onto a memory of an hourglass pendant on a gold chain, and a bird in a bell jar. If he couldn't go forward, or bring her back, then all that was left was for he himself to go back - back to before everything went to Hell. Back far enough to save her, and if he was really lucky, to save himself as well...

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 **A/N: And here you have my generic opening sample for my "Someone to Stop You" Challenge. I deliberately left the love interest's identity undefined, as I'm not super-attached to any particular pairing in the Potterverse (save possibly for Luna with Whoever Luna Wants).**

 **The basic idea is as follows: Harry was in love. His lover was killed by Death Eaters, and something inside him broke. He went dark in a big way, and replaced the kid gloves with spiked gauntlets. Eventually, he realized that he'd become a monster, and that he needed his lover as an anchor to sanity and morality, sort of a Jiminy Cricket to his homicidal Pinocchio. Cue standard do-over-style time-travel story, with a jaded killing machine trying to play the role of naiive schoolboy and re-woo the person he loved, while dealing with such conflicts as "going by mental age, any attempt at a romantic relationship right now would be seriously creepy and messed-up" and "I don't want to build a relationship on lies and secrets, but I also can't tell her the truth about my future-past yet for fear of scaring her off".**

 **A plural relationship really doesn't work with this idea (at least I can't see any way to make it work), so I strongly advise against it. The strongest candidates for Harry's love interest would be Hermione (very steady moral compass) and Luna (gentle and compassionate), but any character that could plausibly both end up romantically involved with Harry and act as a strong moral anchor would work.**

 **Inspiration-wise, I think this came in part from the title-providing Doctor Who quote and in part from a fic whose title and author I can't remember, but which had Harry time-traveling to save his loved ones but avoiding developing a connection to Hermione (his lover from the previous timeline) out of shame for the fact that he was a killer. I remember it had him carrying out a big purge one summer, scaring the pants off of everyone, revealing the truth to Hermione later, she freaked out (not unreasonably) and left him, only to reconnect years later after one of her university friends brought up the Trolley Problem.**

 **My general guidelines for fics using my ideas:**

 **1) No incest or otherwise inappropriate pairings (like teacher/student or pairing an adult with a much younger child), and absolutely no sexualizing young teens and preteens (yes, I know it happens in real life, but it's still not something to promote, and stories that have thirteen-year-olds and even younger children engaging in intimate activities are a total no-go).**

 **2) No SIs or OCs in central or major roles unless said role is necessary to the story and no canon character can plausibly fill it. For an OC used well in a major role, see Barchoke in Harry Crow. Examples of OCs and SIs being used badly in major roles are sufficiently abundant that I'm confident you can find one if you look hard enough. Worst case, dig up the Star Trek fanfic that gave us the name "Mary Sue" for an extreme example. Or read My Immortal, if you enjoy suffering.**


	2. The Real Blood-Traitors

**A/N: I'm posting this chapter in part in celebration and thanks after my main story, Umino Iruka and the Will of Fire, hit 100 Favorites. Thank you so much to everybody supporting me in my journey as a writer.**

 **Anyway, to be honest, most of this chapter is setup. The rant at the end by the unnamed blood-purist Wizengamot member is the real point of this idea. Everything else is just a way for the exact events of the graveyard to become known. More info below.**

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"Can't I just take Veritaserum or something?" Harry's question caused the murmurs in Courtroom Ten to lull, for a moment. Even the Headmaster was looking at him in surprise. "Or maybe I could show my memories in a Penseive? You keep saying I'm lying, and if I am then wouldn't that prove it to everyone?"

The Umbridge witch took on a saccharine smile. "That _would_ be the case, except that all Veritaserum could show is that you _thought_ you were telling the truth. We've all already heard ample evidence that your grasp on reality may not be as firm as you would have us believe. As for a Penseive, the memories could easily be altered or entirely fabricated. In both cases, you are talking about using valuable and expensive Ministry resources just to show everyone what we already know - that you are nothing but an attention-seeking liar!"

"Dolores!" Madam Bones's harsh rebuke cut across the toad-woman's words. "I find it highly suspect that, on top of the procedural irregularities of this 'trial', you and the Minister seem to have decided upon a verdict and sentence in advance. If you're correct and Mister Potter is indeed lying, then you lose nothing by proving it. In fact, your insistent attempts to pass judgment without hearing evidence lead me to question precisely what it is about this evidence so frightens you."

"If you're worried about the memories being faked, somehow," Harry stated, starting to draw confidence from having somebody speaking against the behavior of this borderline kangaroo court, "couldn't you use the Veritaserum to confirm that the memories are accurate? Since one or the other alone isn't enough, use them to confirm each other. I'll even pay the Ministry back for the costs of the potion, whatever the usual price is for a dose, so there's no chance of me wasting expensive potion that the Ministry paid for."

"And before anyone attempts to further question the veracity of memories shown in a Penseive," Dumbledore was speaking now, though still refusing to meet Harry's eyes, "memories which have been falsified, altered, or are the result of dreaming or delusion are readily distinguishable to an experienced viewer. Given recent aspersions cast upon my own character, I invite you to confirm my assertions with your own experts."

Both the Wizengamot and the gallery erupted into muttering with the occasional shout, while the Minister and those around him appeared to be in an increasingly heated discussion behind some kind of silencing spell. Finally, after several minutes, the three appeared to reach a decision which left the Minister looking awkward and his Senior Undersecretary fuming. Percy was scribbling furiously at his station, before drawing his wand, casting the spells necessary to see a sheet of parchment rising from his desk and fold itself into an airplane that flew out through the doors that had just been opened slightly by one of the Aurors present.

Several minutes passed in tense not-quite-silence, before the doors to Courtroom Ten opened once more, admitting first a hovering waist-height pedestal, followed by an Auror that was apparently levitating it with his wand, followed by a second person in an all-concealing hooded gray robe. This second person was carrying a broad stone bowl that Harry could only assume was a Penseive like the Headmaster's. The Auror set the pedestal on the floor in front of Harry, and the man/woman/animated robe behind him set the Penseive on the pedestal.

After the mysterious figure in the gray robes (who introduced themself as an "Unspeakable" and who Harry _still_ couldn't even make out a gender) explained the process to Harry, they proceeded to extract copies of his memories of the Dementor attack, the Third Task and its aftermath, the encounter in the Shrieking Shack, and several other incidents. Each strand was placed in a separate phial and labeled with a number. The effects of the Veritaserum would leave Harry unable to focus clearly enough to give his memories, so they had to pull anything and everything that might be asked about _before_ Harry was dosed or be forced to wait until after the serum wore off to extract the further memories and then dose him a second time, all of which could take hours and would use up a second dose of the rather expensive truth serum. At first Harry had just given the three memories he most wanted seen, but then it occurred to him that other questions might be asked, and he just kept thinking of more memories that might turn out to be needed.

Finally, once all of the memories were ready, the Auror stepped forward. He, the Unspeakable, and the Headmaster each confirmed the Veritaserum for what it was, and Harry officially gave his consent to be dosed. Three drops later, he felt a calm relaxation come over him; it wasn't entirely unlike the Imperius Curse, and he suspected he could probably at least resist it if he had to, but he _wanted_ to tell the truth, so he just went along with it.

Once it had been confirmed that Harry was fully under the effects of Veritaserum and the required opening questions had been asked to confirm his identity, Umbridge was the first to speak. "Now, did you or did you not cast magic in a Muggle area, in the presence and full view of a Muggle?"

"I did. I used a **Lumos** spell to find my wand then a Patronus to drive away the Dementors that were attacking us." It felt like the words were just spilling out of him, coming too fast and slippery for him to do anything but speak his answer immediately.

Umbridge scowled. "You cast a light spell to find your wand? Did you somehow lose track of your hand, perhaps?" Her sarcasm was practically tangible in her second question.

"I was desperate. Dudley punched me, and made me drop my wand. It was too dark to see, so I tried to cast the spell, and my wand lit up where it was lying on the ground."

Many people present in the chamber blinked at that, including Dumbledore. Casting magic through a wand you weren't even holding wasn't exactly business as usual. Wanting to move things along before Umbridge could derail them any further, Madam Bones asked, "Does one of the phials contain an accurate copy of your memory of that incident, and if so which one?"

Harry stated which phial contained the requested memory, and everyone watched as the scene was projected above the Penseive, starting from when Harry had first felt the Dementors approaching to Mrs. Figg's arrival. Once the memory finished, and the Unspeakable confirmed that there were no signs of tampering or delusion, Harry detachedly looked up at the three judges: Madam Bones looked to be thinking about something, and whatever it was clearly didn't make her happy; Minister Fudge was looking slightly green, and as if he would really prefer to find out that none of what was happening was actually real; Umbridge was glaring hatefully at Harry, with an intensity he'd only ever seen on Snape previously.

"Auror Dawlish," Madam Bones called out to one of the Aurors in the room, "I want a full census done of the Dementors at Azkaban. If there are a pair of Dementors out there attacking people, we need to know if they are new, if they escaped Ministry control somehow, or if somebody sent them. Speak with Amos Diggory as well, maybe his department can help."

Seeming to recover a bit, Fudge got a calculating gleam in his eye. "Another matter needs to be resolved, Amelia, for everyone's sake I believe. Mister Potter, which of the phials, if any, contains your memory of the events during and after the Third Task of the most recent Triwizard Tournament?" If he couldn't get the Potter boy expelled over his underage magic use, he'd turn this whole ploy against him and prove once and for all that Lord Thingy was dead and gone and that Potter was either lying or insane.

Harry indicated the requested memory, and it was soon being projected for everyone to view. They watched:

" _Let's just take it together._ "

" _Kill the spare._ "

" _You stand, Harry Potter, upon the remains of my late father. A Muggle and a fool..._ "

" _He's back. Voldemort._ "

" _My master's plan worked. He is returned to power and I will be honored by him beyond the dreams of wizards._ "

The memory ended, and the chamber was utterly silent save for a couple of witches and wizards softly weeping and the Unspeakable quietly affirming that no part of the memory showed signs of falsity. After almost a minute of stunned stillness, a rustling of robes announced one of the Wizengamot members standing from his seat.

"That memory..." he began, sounding nearly overcome with emotion, "That memory has left me incensed almost beyond words. We just witnessed as that... _creature_ that openly admitted to having been a half-blood wizard ordering the murder of a Pureblood student. And what quarrel did he have with young DIggory? None! 'Kill the spare,' he says, ordering the death of a young Pureblood wizard as dismissively as ordering dinner. The boy was not his enemy, nor truly an obstacle; a moment's thought produces numerous ways in which he could have been used as an asset, and yet that _creature_ orders him disposed of! This, to me, forever belies any claim the Dark Lord ever made about being a champion to Purebloods!"

"You all know me," he continued, "and you know my beliefs. I have no love for Muggles, nor for the disruption of our society and destruction of our traditions their magical children bring. I firmly believe that Muggleborns and their families are the greatest risk by far to the Statute of Secrecy. I have been known to use such impolitic words as 'mudblood' and 'blood-traitor' in more candid conversations. None can accuse me of being pro-Muggle."

"However!" Now his voice rose, passionate and angry. "I say now that neither the Dark Lord nor his followers are champions of the Pureblood cause. These witches and wizards, all or nearly all of them Purebloods, debase themselves before that _abomination_ that was once a half-blood, kissing the hem of its robes. They allow it to torture their fellow Purebloods. At its behest, they did and likely will again set out to murder their fellow Purebloods solely for the 'crime' of refusing to bow before their half-blood master. I say to you now, that _they_ , the Death Eaters, are the _true_ blood-traitors!" At that, the chamber erupted.

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 **A/N: There's the real core of the idea. Seeing the fact that Voldie is a half-blood that has Purebloods killed for not following him, those blood purists not already fully committed to his cause deem him and his followers to be the biggest threat to Purebloods in Britain, and decide that Death Eaters are far greater blood-traitors than Muggle-lovers like Arthur Weasley. From here, I would take things in a direction where Riddle and his buddies suddenly find themselves with a lot less support than they had last time around, and in fact now have both the progressives and the conservatives in the Ministry and Wizengamot viewing them as enemies.**


	3. A Study in White: Palpably Insidious

**A/N: This is the first entry I've written for a potential collection-of-short-stories fic called "A Study in White", exploring various possible versions of Albus Dumbledore. I've got two more ideas in my head, though no idea if/when my muse will have me writing them up.**

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 **A Study in White**

 **Chapter 1: Palpably Insidious**

Far too few people properly appreciated the productivity of an early start to one's day, Albus mused as he stepped into the empty Wizengamot chamber. It was seven o'clock on a Sunday morning, a time when most Wizengamot members would still be asleep. Even those already up and going about their days had no reason to be in the chamber at that time, as the next scheduled meeting wasn't for another week and a half.

The war had been going, by all accounts save those of the Dark, very poorly. Voldemort and his Death Eaters continued to murder Aurors and Order members, their political opponents, those whose blood they deemed insufficiently "pure", and just about anyone else they felt like. In response, thanks in part to the relative uselessness of the Ministry's response, more and more people had flocked to Albus's banner, pledging their support to "the only man You-Know-Who ever feared".

Stepping up to his accustomed station, he tapped his wand on the striking board, producing a resounding _BOOM_ throughout the chamber. "I hereby call this special session of the Wizengamot to order. The role shall now be called; please stand and announce yourself when your seat is called upon." It wasn't strictly necessary to follow all of the usual procedures and wordings - so long as the proper intent and meaning were there, he could have been speaking in pidgin Hindi mixed with an unhealthy amount of Cockney rhyming slang if he'd liked, given the lack of anyone to object. He just felt that the forms should be observed, particularly on such a momentous occasion. That, and it was more fun this way.

"The Seat of House Abbott?" Albus paused for a moment, before speaking again. "Present. Professor Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, Headmaster, Chief Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, Grand Sorcerer, and Order of Merlin, First Class. Due to the recent troubles, the Abbott family has regrettably been slain with the exception of one member. As Ms. Abbott is presently underage and at school, her guardianship _pro tem_ and thus her proxy falls to myself as Headmaster."

House after House he listed, noting quite a few as absent and giving the same explanation for many of those he called as present (though he only gave his full name and titles when he felt like it). Others got a slight variation:

"The Seat of House Diggory?" Again, a pause of just the right length. "Present. Professor Albus Dumbledore. Sadly, all members of House Diggory are deceased. Per the will of the late Amos Diggory, his House's Seat is to be transferred to Professor Dumbledore in order to assist in the fight against the darkness which threatens us all and which tragically claimed his family in recent years."

And so it went. To anyone that was counting (that is, Albus) it would be noticeable that exactly thirty-three of forty-nine Seats called as present, precisely the number needed to enable the passing of any form of decree, law, or other legislative act. Given that it was also well above the twenty-five required for a quorum, that meant that the Seats present for this session were enough to make any desired change to the laws of WIzarding Britain, and only a similar majority could legally undo these changes.

"Well then, as we have a quorum, this meeting is now in session. First order of business, the Seat of House Potter moves that we declare a state of emergency regarding the conflict with Lord Voldemort. The Seat of House Weasley seconds. All in favor?" He listed each of the Seats he controlled, giving an "Aye" vote for each. "The motion passes. The Seat of House Black moves that the Chief Warlock be granted emergency powers for the duration of the current crisis. The Seat of House Prewitt seconds. All in favor?"

* * *

"Thank you all for your support in this," Albus told the empty chamber. "I shall endeavor to live up to the faith you have shown in me, to work towards the greater good of Wizarding Britain. Now, to business..."

* * *

Over the next few hours, Albus proceeded to systematically and totally rework the legal structure of Wizarding Britain. He authorized the Aurors to check any citizen for the Dark Mark at any time, and made bearing the Dark Mark punishable by life in Azkaban and escape from Azkaban by summary execution. All assets of anyone caught bearing the Mark, past or present, were to be siezed in order to fund the war effort and to help offset the damage done by the war. The DMLE was to be expanded tremendously, with the number of Aurors and Hit Wizards on staff to more than triple. Leading this enlarged fighting force would be people utterly loyal to Albus, of course.

Speaking of loyalty to Albus, he would be carefully rolling out a new system of binding loyalty oaths throughout the Ministry. Oh, they'd be phrased innocently enough, enforcing loyalty "to the government of Wizarding Britain and to its lawful head". That "lawful head" would be Albus, though many wouldn't find that out until later. Once the entire Ministry was either sworn to his service or arrested (not merely sacked, after all refusing to swear loyalty could only be taken as a sign of _dis_ loyalty, right?), he would push a similar loyalty oath to be demanded of all citizens, couched as a way to cut off all further support for Lord Voldemort. At the same time, he'd start having the new First-Years swear their own oaths shortly after the Sorting Feast, a time when they would be at their most compliant.

Within the next few years, if all went to plan, Albus Dumbledore would be the supreme ruler of Wizarding Britain. With his tremendous authority, it would be no trouble to finally put down Tom's little rebellion, useful though it may have been to reach this point. Thanks to Nicholas's Stone (as if Albus would have ever actually destroyed such a precious item) he would have no shortage of funding to shape their society as he saw fit, and no shortage of time in which to consolidate and secure his holdings before looking to expand them. Poor, foolish Gellert had been too hasty, too greedy, always trying to grab more territory rather than ensuring he could hold what he already had. Perhaps he should pay him a visit soon, to let him know that Albus would be fulfilling their dreams of a better world. Yes, he was certain that knowledge would bring great comfort to his oldest and dearest companion in his waning years...

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 **A/N: Obviously a nastier Dumbledore here, along with at least a few cases of fanon or outright AU overriding canon.**

 **In case I didn't make the whole plan clear: Dumbledore deliberately allowed Voldemort's rise and softballed the war in order to let the Death Eaters wipe out families that supported Dumbledore enough to leave him their seats in the Wizengamot. As the war got worse, more people flocked to Dumbles' banner, meaning more supporters willing to leave him their seats. Other seats came under his control because the only heir of the family was an underage orphan, so he took guardianship of them and acted as their proxy. The goal was to become a one-man supermajority, with enough votes to enact any legislation he wanted with little to no check on that power. Throw in "emergency powers", and you've got an instant autocrat. Once he's got the power, he doesn't need Riddle and his followers any more, and thus can get rid of them, winning public acclaim and approval of his takeover.**

 **The bit about the oaths was partly inspired by the fic "Sorry About That Harry" by Nigelcat1.**

 **Imaginary cookies to anyone that figures out the source of the punnage in the titles.**


	4. Marauder

**A/N: This idea is mostly a Fate/Zero concept, with Potterverse crossover elements. I'm not super well-versed in Nasuverse lore, so I may get some things wrong here, but I welcome corrections. I also welcome people taking my ideas and running with them (hint, hint...)**

 **If you're familiar with the plot/backstory of the Fate series and Fate/Zero in particular, you might be best-served skipping until the first scene-break, as the opening segment is all exposition that mostly sums up salient points from said backstory.**

* * *

Causality is a funny thing, really. Every decision, every random chance, every event with multiple possible outcomes, creates a branching point in the timeline, resulting in an infinite profusion of parallel realities, no two of which are exactly alike. In one such branch, three families of magic-users, known in their world as Magi, collaborated to craft a ritual intended to grant access to Akasha, the Root of All Things, via an artifact known as the Holy Grail.

This ritual took the form of a deadly tournament, dubbed the Holy Grail War, in which seven Magi would each summon a Servant, a copy of the spirit of a hero or other legendary figure given physical form. Each Servant would fall into one of seven Classes: Archer, Assassin, Berserker, Caster, Lancer, Rider, Saber; how a group of early-nineteenth-century magi came up with an RPG-esque character class system is unknown, though most blame the Wizard Marshal Kischur Zelretch Schweinorg, known to most simply as "Zelretch", "Kaleidoscope" (for the magic he wielded that allowed him to see and interact with other times and realities), or "that undead troll".

When a vampire gets old and bored, sometimes they get a tad strange. Access to the broader multiverse probably didn't help matters.

In any case, over the course of the Holy Grail War, the Master-Servant pairs would battle each other in a winner-takes-all battle royale, with the potential prize starting at "bragging rights" (something most Magi would kill for without batting an eye anyway), ranging through "one wish each to the winning Master and Servant", and topping out at "access to the Root" (and thus infinite knowledge).

With such a prize at stake, and given the total amorality of most Magi, it should therefore come as no surprise that somebody tried to cheat more than usual. During the Third Holy Grail War, the von Einzbern family (one of the three that originally founded the Grail Wars) managed to summon up an extra Servant beyond the normal seven. Unfortunately for the cheaters, their irregular Servant was weak, and quickly defeated.

The reason behind the whole death-tournament was that each Servant, when slain or otherwise knocked out of the contest, would be absorbed by the Grail as fuel. Once all but one Servant had been eliminated, the Grail would be fully-primed and ready to grant a wish, though making a clean sweep (such as by having the winning Master force their Servant to commit suicide) was necessary to grant access to the Root.

When the cheaty Servant was defeated, however, something went wrong. Instead of being absorbed by the Grail as raw mana, the essence of the Heroic Spirit remained intact enough to color the Grail with its own personality forevermore, altering all future Grail Wars accordingly. Given the fact that the Grail itself selected both the Masters and the Servants, this was no small thing even before one reached the point of potential wish-granting.

In the majority of these timelines, the eighth Servant was of the Avenger class, but his true identity was Angra Mainyu, the Zoroastrian devil figure. His unbridled malevolence tainted the Grail, leading to an insane serial killer being chosen as a Master in the Fourth Holy Grail War, his Caster servant the monstrous child-killer Bluebeard. The man that won the Fourth Grail War would see the corruption in the Grail, realize that it would horribly twist any wish and potentially unleash an unstoppable evil upon an unprepared world. He would force his Servant to destroy the manifestation of the Grail, resulting in a catastrophic fire and the deaths of hundreds of innocents. It was an all-around bad time, is what I'm getting at.

Timelines are constantly branching however, and in a small branch off the main trunk of this timeline thing went a bit differently...

* * *

"You're giving me a stick." Jubstacheit von Einzbern, known more colloquially as "Acht", glanced impassively between the polished stick of dogwood and the visitor offering it to him.

"Not just a stick," scolded Zelretch, "a _magic wand_." At his hosts's unimpressed look, he continued. "I picked it up through the Kaleidoscope and thought it could be a good catalyst for summoning a Servant, something I've noticed the von Einzberns haven't done yet this time around."

"We cannot," Acht replied flatly. "Seven Servants have already been summoned."

"They have?!" Zelrecht gasped in blatantly insincere shock. "Well, keep it anyway." He turned to leave, waving airily. "I'm sure you'll find _some_ use for it..."

* * *

The irregular summoning ritual completed with a flash of light and a plume of smoke. When visibility returned, it revealed a tall, lean man in tattered robes clutching the so-called "magic wand" that had indeed served as a catalyst. He had shoulder-length black hair, grey eyes, a pale complexion and aristocratic features made somewhat less impressive by his gaunt, somewhat emaciated state and his half-mad expression. "Servant Marauder has answered your summons," he stated with a posh British accent before adopting a manic grin, "and I solemnly swear that I am up to no good."

In his chambers at Clock Tower, Zelretch smiled to himself and whispered, "Mischief Managed."

* * *

 **Sixty Years Later:**

The smoke from the summoning cleared, revealing a young man of no more than twenty, though his bespectacled green eyes looked far older. A jagged scar in the shape of a lightning bolt peeked out from behind the fringe of his messy black hair. " _Servant_ Caster has answered your summons," he said, conveying an impressive amount of disgust at the first word, "and if you want me to call you Master it's going to cost you a Command Seal. I should probably warn you, last time I got dragged into a deadly magical tournament it didn't exactly end well..."

* * *

"Kiritsugu, darling," Irisviel von Einzbern said with a beatific smile and a saccharine tone that spoke of pain and death in the immediate future if she was not appeased, "please explain to me why your Servant has appeared in nothing but a blue lace negligeé?"

"I was wondering that myself," the Magus Killer replied, keeping his eyes firmly fixed on his wife and not on the blonde woman that somehow managed to look regal and dignified even in skimpy lingere, "can you shed any light on this Saber?"

"I cannot," Arturia stated coldly as she called up her usual armored dress, "though I am thankful that, minimal as it was, my attire when summoned was at least tasteful and preserved my modesty, even if only barely."

* * *

Tohsaka Tokiomi gazed in shock at the imperious golden-haired man in his summoning circle. "Servant Archer has answered your summons. I ask of thee," the King of Heroes ground out in a strained voice, " _WHY AM I NAKED?!_ "

Tokiomi decided _not_ to mention the fact that somehow someone had managed to write the word "PONCE" across his new Servant's forehead in what looked like permanent marker. The... anatomical illustration on his cheek was _definitely_ not going to be brought up.

* * *

Lancer looked between his Master, who was sliding rapidly from surprise into rage, and the woman that was presumably the man's wife, who was staring hungrily at Lancer's... _other_ spear. "Well," he sighed, "this could have started better."

* * *

"Yes, I'm your Master!" shouted a frantic Waver Velvet, "Now please, put on some clothing!"

The bellowing laughter of his newly-summoned Rider servant did _not_ help his already frayed nerves.

* * *

Kotomine Kirei gave the figures before him a bland smile. "I'm not sure why you're... _attired_ thus, but please refrain from such debauchery on Church property from now on."

* * *

Matou Kariya stared at the hulking armored figure before him, wondering why he felt like some unknown power had taken pity on him...

* * *

 **A/N: Yep, instead of Angra Mainyu turning the Grail evil, Sirius Black has imbued it with a love of pranks and schadenfreude. Those poor, poor Magi...**

 **As an explanation for the first prank of the Grail War, Sirius would most want to humiliate an arrogant prick like Gilgamesh. Harry got passed over for obvious reasons, Lancelot because Sirius figures that Kariya has already been through enough, and Arturia gets at least something to wear out of a combination of what chivalry Sirius possesses and a Briton's respect for King Arthur. She's still a good-looking woman, though, and with Irisviel watching the summoning the temptation was just too much for him to pass up.**

 **Who summoned Harry? I don't know, except that it sure as hell isn't Ryuunosuke. No way would Sirius have picked him as a Master.**

 **Overall, I'm just hoping somebody reads this and is inspired to write their own, more extensive version. I am nowhere near sufficiently well-versed in Fate lore to be able to actually write out a full fic, even if I didn't already have a long-running story in progress. The core concept is stated right at the start of this A/N.**


End file.
